


breathe me in and let me stay

by alakewood



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Derek and Scott are Brothers, Drug Use, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Minor Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Shotgunning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 13:28:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1120392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alakewood/pseuds/alakewood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the first day of summer vacation and Stiles and Scott are supposed to have a bro-date to gorge on pizza and marathon all the Marvel movies.  Then Allison texts Scott and Scott bails and Stiles is left to share the pizza they've already ordered with Derek.  But that's not all they share.</p>
            </blockquote>





	breathe me in and let me stay

**Author's Note:**

> This is unbeta'd, so any mistakes are mine. Also, I've never experienced a drug-induced high so if any of the drug use here seems off, that's why. I've never written a shotgunning fic before but Derek and Stiles sometimes just make me want to write things.

Half an hour into their game of Call of Duty, ten minutes before the large meat-lovers pizza Stiles ordered is supposed to be delivered, Scott's cell chimes with a new text. He abruptly hits the pause button just as Stiles was about to ambush a trash-talking twelve-year-old that's already taken Stiles out once. Just a glance at the dopey grin on Scott's face lets Stiles know who the text is from. It's the first real day of summer break and it's supposed to be just them and pizza and junk food and a Marvel movie marathon and no Allison because Allison's supposed to be on a flight to New York before heading off to _summer in France again,_ but no.

Scott's already standing, dropping his controller onto the couch while he taps out a text with this thumbs. “Hey, um, Allison missed her flight because of an accident on the freeway and she's not leaving until tomorrow now, so I, uh, is it cool if I-” He hooks a thumb towards the door as he turns his stupid puppy-eyes on Stiles.

“What about the pizza?” Stiles asks not entirely shocked by Scott wanting to ditch him.

“Ummm...” Scott shoves his phone into one of his front pockets and digs his battered duct-tape wallet out of his pack pocket, fishing a ten-dollar bill from it. “Here. I think Derek's upstairs in his room. He probably hasn't eaten yet.”

Stiles arches an eyebrow at Scott. “You expect me to go initiate conversation with your brother?” Derek's been home from college for two weeks and he hasn't said a _word_ to Stiles. He did, however, grunt at him last Sunday. It may have possibly been in greeting.

Scott's eyes somehow turn even more pitiful. “Just tell him there's pizza.” He pats down his pockets, checking that he's got his phone and wallet, shoving his feet into his sneakers, and fixes Stiles with a sheepish smile. “Can I ask a favor of you?”

Rolling his eyes, Stiles tosses his controller onto the cushion beside him and waves his had at Scott in a _go on_ gesture.

“Can I borrow your car? I'll bring it back tomorrow and I'll fill up your tank.”

With a shake of his head because Scott's the _worst_ best friend ever, Stiles shoves his hand into the pocket of his hoodie and retrieves his keys, holding them out to Scott. “Fine. _But_ ,” he says, pulling the keys just out of Scott's reach, “instead of a Marvel marathon, we're watching all the _Star Wars_ movies.”

Scott makes a face but snatches the keys from Stiles' hand. “Deal. See you tomorrow. I owe you!”

Stiles watches Scott leave, listens to his Jeep's engine turn over with a pleasing rumble and slowly quiets as Scott backs out of the driveway. Not really in the mood to play CoD by himself, Stiles turns off the Xbox and starts flipping through channels on the TV, waiting for the pizza and going over how he's going to approach Derek in his head. He's got it narrowed down to three scenarios by the time the delivery guy rings the doorbell, only one of which has him walking away unmaimed.

Steeling himself with a deep breath, stretching his neck side to side, Stiles slowly makes his way upstairs to the room at the end of the hall to the right and knocks on the door with false confidence. “Uh, Derek? It's Stiles. Scott kind of, he bailed but we already ordered pizza, so. Um, there's pizza downstairs if you're hungry.” He literally face-palms, shaking his head as he listens for any kind of acknowledgment or response, backing away from Derek's door when neither seems forthcoming.

Stiles grabs a couple paper plates, some paper towels, and a can of Dr. Pepper from the kitchen before grabbing himself a couple pieces of pizza and resuming his channel surfing. He bypasses an episode of _American Pickers,_ a really old rerun of _Mythbusters_ , some college rowing competition on ESPN2 that momentarily sidetracks his train of thought when the announcer reads the profile for UCLA crew's coxswain and seriously – who came up with that title. _Coxswain._ The person that sits up at the front of the shell hollering at the oarsmen to _stroke._ Of course, his brain's hung up on _cock_ and _stroke_ and he doesn't hear Derek coming down the stairs until he's _right there_ asking, “The hell are you watching?”

Stiles shrugs, takes an overly large bite of pizza, mumbling, “I dunno,” and changing the channel again.

Derek startles the shit out of Stiles by dropping down onto the couch beside him, leaning forward to pull a couple slices of pizza from the the box while keeping his half-lidded gaze on the TV. “So Scott ditched you, huh?”

“Allison missed her flight so she's not leaving until tomorrow. He took my Jeep.” Beside him, Derek scoffs. “What?”

“He took your Jeep or you _let him_ take it?” Derek asks with a quirked brow.

“Well, I gave him the keys,” Stiles says, narrowing his eyes at Derek. “You know Scott. He would've whined and begged and not-so-subtly hinted until I gave in. I just avoided a couple angst-filled hours, a guilt-trip, and a migraine.”

The corner of Derek's mouth turns up in the faintest likeness of a smile. “What did you guys have planned?”

Stiles shrugs, chews and swallows the bite he'd just taken. “Nothing too important. Pizza and movies.” It's kind of bizarre, sitting here with Derek, having a conversation. Stiles is pretty sure this is the most they've said to each other since before Derek graduated high school. There was a time – a long, long time ago – that Derek didn't mind Scott, and Stiles by default, trailing after him like puppies. He used to be cool. Or cool _er_. Or maybe he just didn't used to care that Stiles and Scott _weren't_ cool. Whatever it was, something changed, then Derek went off to college and that was that.

“...next year,” Derek says. Or finishes saying.

“What?” Stiles asks, because he kind of got lost in his head thinking about how things used to be.

Derek rolls his eyes. “I said, it's kind of hard to believe that you guys are going to be seniors next year.”

“I can't wait to graduate. Get the hell out of the cesspool that's BHHS.”

“It won't be so bad with Jackson already gone, though, right?” Derek says as he reaches for his third piece of pizza.

Stiles turns another narrow-eyed stare at him. It makes sense that he'd know about Jackson being an utter tool and making his and Scott's – but not so much Scott's anymore since he doesn't ride the bench nearly as constantly as Stiles does – lives on the lacrosse team hell. “With Jackson graduated and not having to take any more science classes from Harris, it'll be easier, yeah, but I guess I'm just ready for something else. Different.”

Derek hums in agreement, scarfing down the last remaining bites of his slice. “Something different, huh?”

“Uh huh,” Stiles affirms slowly, feeling like Derek has more to say.

Grabbing a napkin from the coffee table, Derek wipes the orange grease from his fingers and tilts his head back towards the stairs. “Do you know where Scott keeps his weed?”

Well, _that_ 's not where he was expecting Derek to go with _something different._ “Um, yeah?”

“Good.” Derek slaps a large hand down on Stiles' knee as he stands. “Show me.”

“As much as Scott is my least favorite best bud right now, I'm not showing you where he keeps his stash. I'll get you it – well, some of it – but that's all.”

“Mmno,” Derek says with a shake of his head. He drags a fingertip along the DVD case spines where all the movies are alphabetized – courtesy of Stiles – and stops at _The Avengers_ , tilting it away from the back of the shelf and brandishing it at Stiles. “Go get Scott's weed and meet me in my room.”

Stiles watches Derek climb the stairs as his brain tries and fails to figure out how he got here from _there._ There being half an hour ago when Derek didn't speak more than two words to him at any given span of weeks, and here being something distinctly conversation-like and having him swipe part of Scott's meager pot-stash and inviting him into his room to, what? get high and watch _The Avengers_? Which, okay, if Stiles were one to get high, _The Avengers_ would probably be interesting to watch while in such a state.

In all honesty, though, Stiles doesn't really care how he came to be here, because here has Derek Hale inviting Stiles into his room. And that's something Stiles has been fantasizing about since he hit puberty. Or thereabouts. It was definitely at an awkward time of his development. Which, okay, Stiles has never not had an awkward stage of development.

He finds himself starting up the stairs before he's really thought through what he's doing because, _hello,_ his father's the sheriff and weed's illegal. But so is underage drinking and he and Scott have been doing that since sophomore year. Not regularly, but on occasion – i.e., every time Allison broke up with Scott again or Lydia got back together with Jackson. So Stiles isn't a stranger to doing things he's not supposed to, but this is a line he never really planned on crossing. Mostly because he's never really had the opportunity to and he can only imagine how much trouble he and Scott could get into if they were both stoned out of their gourds at the same time.

It doesn't take long to find the few small baggies shoved down inside the toe of one of Scott's lacrosse cleats at the bottom of his equipment bag, then Stiles is knocking on Derek's door that was left slightly ajar.

“'s open,” Derek says from inside.

Stiles pushes the door open and steps into the dim room, getting pelted in the face with a slightly damp towel the moment he's fully inside. “Dude, _what_ -”

“Close the door and wedge that in the crack underneath,” Derek interrupts from where he's lounging on his bed.

Stiles does as he's told before walking over to Derek and holding out the baggie that contains two joints. “Here.”

“Sit,” Derek says. Then, “Was this it?”

“No,” Stiles tells him, gingerly settling himself on the edge of the mattress because _this is Derek Hale's bed._ “But that's all you're getting.”

The only word to describe the grin Derek flashes at Stiles then is _wolfish._ “We'll see,” he says. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Stiles complies, scooting back until he's leaning against the headboard beside Derek, the TV on top of the dresser across from the bed already on the main menu screen. He's wound so tight that when the slight breeze outside rustles the leaves of the tree near Derek's windows above their heads he startles, making the whole bed jolt. He feels his whole face go red as he watches Derek light one of the joints and take a slow, deep breath.

Derek exhales the pungent smoke towards the windows and hold the weed out to Stiles. “Here. You could totally use it.”

Stiles waves his hands at Derek. “No, it's- I'm good. I'm not-- I haven't, so.”

Derek hums, a considering sound, and turns more towards Stiles. “Come here.”

“I _am_ right here.”

“Closer.”

Stiles shuffles closer, close enough his and Derek's knees are touching.

“Open your mouth.”

“What?”

“Open. Your. Mouth.”

“Why?”

“Just do it, Stiles,” Derek growls.

That sends a thrill down Stiles' spine, but it doesn't stop him from feeling a little – a _lot_ , rather – self-conscious with his pizza breath as he opens his mouth as instructed.

“More,” Derek demands.

Stiles lets out a quiet growl of his own as he opens his mouth wider, glaring at Derek with an expression he hopes asks sarcastically, _are you happy?_

“You're gonna wanna breathe in when I exhale into your mouth,” Derek tells him.

And wait, what? _What_ 's happening? But Derek's taking another drag, eyes closed at the paper at the tip burns red, then his ridiculously green eyes open, locking right on Stiles' as he leans in, mouth opening over Stiles', then he's breathing out and Stiles is breathing in. The smoke burns his lungs and he's not sure if that's what's making him feel light-headed or if it's the graze of Derek's lip catching his as he pulls away. Stiles holds his breath a couple moments longer, exhales towards the window just like Derek did, coughing a few times like Derek didn't.

Derek's eyes seem darker as he leans in. “Again?”

Stiles' heartbeat stutters over itself in his chest and he nods, opening his mouth wide without any prompting.

This time, when Derek breathes out into Stiles, he lingers close, hand not holding the joint gently curling around the side of Stiles' neck, fingertips scratching across the shorter hairs at his nape while Derek's thumb traces the hinge of his jaw.

Stiles' breath hitches at the touch, catches in his throat when Derek's tongue grazes his bottom lip purposefully. He only coughs once when he exhales.

“C'mere,” Derek says, voice low and rough before putting the joint in his mouth so he has both hands free to reach for Stiles, grabbing at his hips and manhandling him with a surprising show of strength until he's straddling Derek's lap.

Stiles would feel a hundred times more embarrassed if Derek wasn't sporting a similar erection. He opens his mouth as Derek takes a final pull from the nearly burned-out joint, watches him stub out the smoldering tip in the ashtray on his nightstand, breathes in as Derek breathes out, lets his head swim with the way he feels.

Derek's hands sweep up Stiles' side, rucking up his t-shirt before sliding back down to grasp his hips, pulling Stiles down as he rocks up, and-

Stiles gasps in a short breath he barely has enough room in his aching lungs for, exhaling as he lifts his own hands to bury his fingers in Derek's hair. He trails the tip of his nose up the bridge of Derek's and back down as he lets Derek manipulate his hips however he wants.

Derek moans, breathless and broken, tilting his chin up to catch Stiles' mouth in a hard, bruising kiss. He bites at Stiles' bottom lip, catches it between his teeth and tugs before letting it go just to draw it back into his mouth, sweeping his tongue over the hurt.

Stiles isn't a stranger to kissing, but he's never been kissed like this, he's never been touched like this. He's never _felt_ like this and he's ninety-seven percent sure it's not all because of Scott's cheap pot. He kisses Derek back, turns his dirty tricks back on him and gets the best little noises to fall, muffled, from Derek's mouth.

Derek licks at Stiles' teeth, sucks on his tongue, digs the tips of his fingers into the muscles of Stiles' ass as he grinds them together before finally flipping them over, stretching himself out along Stiles' side, never letting their mouths part for long as he successfully unbuttons and unzips Stiles' fly one-handed and dips said hand beneath the elastic band of Stiles' underwear. Derek's palm slides over the slick head of Stiles' dick and he squeezes gently, gives a little tug, and enough precome blurts from his slit to give Derek's hand this perfect friction as he starts jacking Stiles off. It doesn't take long – it's almost embarrassingly fast – before Stiles is rolling his hips up to meet Derek's fist, the sweet drag of skin on skin just a little painful, then he's coming all over Derek's hand and his own belly, panting hard into Derek's mouth.

With this vaguely wounded sound, Derek brings his hand up to his mouth, licks across the back of his knuckles, then shoves his hand back down between them to get his own jeans undone. Stiles is just aware enough to be able to help, curls his hand around Derek's as Derek starts to stroke himself, using Stile's come for lube. “Jesus Christ,” Stiles breathes, nosing at Derek's stubbled jaw then kissing him again. “Derek. Derek, _shit._ ”

Derek throws his head back against the pillow, biting at his lip and breathing harshly through his nose as he spills over his and Stiles' hands where they're tangled together around his cock.

Stiles holds Derek's hand loosely, keeps stroking him through the aftershocks, finally lets go when Derek makes a small noise of discomfort. He watches Derek's face, waits until they're making eye contact again before lifting his hand to taste Derek's come on his fingers. Derek groans at the sight, rolls over on top of Stiles to chase his own flavor from Stiles' tongue.

They trade lazy kisses for awhile before settling, Stiles curled against Derek's side, head resting in the curve of his shoulder. “So,” he says after a few minutes or cuddling. “That just kind of came out of nowhere.”

“Not really,” Derek disagrees, trailing his fingertips along Stiles' elbow. “I've been wanting to do that for a while. Couldn't wait anymore.”

Stiles tilts his head back to look Derek in the eye. “Does that mean that this wasn't a random, one-time thing?”

Derek shrugs his shoulder, jostling Stiles' head. “Do you want it to be more than a _random, one-time thing_?”

Stiles pushes up onto his elbow, tightens his hold on Derek with the arm he's got thrown over his waist. “Uh, _yeah_ I want. Like, for a really, really, embarrassingly long time.”

Stiles' confession seems to make Derek relax even more. “Good. That's-- that's good.”

“Good,” Stiles repeats with a smirk. “But first, I think we should finish the rest of that pizza. Then, maybe, we could share that other joint.”

Derek grins and tugs Stiles higher up his body, kisses him slow. “Sounds good to me.”

“Good,” he repeats again, fighting a laugh and hiding his smile against Derek's mouth. “Great, even. Awesome. Wonderful. Stupendous.”

Derek shuts him up with a kiss. And another. Then another. And, well, it's a while before they make it back downstairs to finish the pizza, but it's still pretty good eaten cold in a warm bed.

**Author's Note:**

> I've got a [tumblr](http://alakewood.tumblr.com), but I have no idea what I'm doing - I just like and occasionally reblog pretty, Teen Wolf-y things.
> 
> Title taken from "Breathe Me In" by Jared & the Mill.


End file.
